


good ships and wood ships and ships that sail the sea

by profdanglais



Series: What Dreams May Come [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Captain Swan January Joy (Once Upon a Time), F/M, I promise, Just Roll With It, ignores s6 entirely, includes pirate-y adventures, not canon compliant from s4 on, this is a CS story, told from Blackbeard's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28531521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: Blackbeard has long coveted theJolly Roger,for her speed and her beauty and her impossible daring. And of course to get her away from his arch enemy Captain Hook. But when the finest ship in all the realms is finally his, he soon discovers that there is more to the story of Hook and the Jolly than he could ever have imagined--and possibly more than he can handle.(Canon compliant up to the end of S3, divergent from S4 and completely ignores 6)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/The Jewel of the Realm | The Jolly Roger
Series: What Dreams May Come [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1171265
Comments: 28
Kudos: 144
Collections: CS January Joy





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year!! 🤞🤞🤞 it will be much, MUCH better than the last few have, for all of us. Thanks to @csjanuaryjoy for making these dark days brighter for the past five years! This is my third time participating and it has always been a bright spot in my year ❤️. 
> 
> This fic grew out of a head canon that I think many of us share--that the _Jolly Roger_ is truly more than just a ship. That there’s something about her magic that allows Killian to sail her on his own, and a special relationship between them. And for all that many of us have written about how Killian felt giving up his ship for Emma, it wasn’t until @winterbythesea‘s latest chapter of _Given The Choice_ that it really sank into my brain how much Killian would have hated knowing that the Jolly was in Blackbeard’s control... and then I thought, but what would she feel about that? What would she do? And thus this fic was born. 
> 
> Told from Blackbeard’s POV... just roll with it.

The first time Blackbeard tripped on a loose board on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ , he was annoyed. At himself more than anything, for not watching where he was going and for making a fool of himself in front of Hook’s crew. 

His crew. They were _his_ crew now. He was their captain, whether they liked it or not. 

He’d had to leave a fair few loyal men back on the _Queen Anne’s Revenge_ —not being fool enough himself to misplace his own ship the way Hook had—which meant the _Jolly’s_ crew was presently comprised of far too many of Hook’s men for his comfort. He’d made them swear an oath of loyalty, of course, but they knew as well as he did that pirate oaths of that sort go only as far as the next change of leadership. True loyalty lies only in men’s hearts.

And possibly, Blackbeard soon began to realise, in the hearts of ships as well. 

The second time he tripped he fell flat on his face with a sound that Bones told him later was akin to that of a melon split open on a rock. “I feared fer yer ‘ead so’s I did, Cap’n,” he growled. Bones had been at Blackbeard’s side since they both were barely more than lads—and never once shown so much as a hint of anything resembling humour—so he did not die for that remark. 

Young Harry Hannigan, who laughed aloud the third time Blackbeard tripped, tumbling face-first into a fish-barrel, was not so fortunate. Blackbeard tossed him overboard with both legs in irons, to set an example. 

No one laughed when he tripped again. But he kept tripping. 

The migratory—and rather predatory—loose board on her deck was far from the only peculiar happening aboard the _Jolly Roger_. There was also, for instance, the determined way she “drifted” off-course if her bearings were not constantly and painstakingly maintained. There were the knots in the sheets that never seemed to hold and the sails that slipped from the rigging at precisely that moment when they were most needed to catch the wind. There were the crates of supplies that went missing and the locks in the brig that wouldn’t latch, the hammocks in the crew’s quarters that loosed themselves from their hitches in the night, snatching the men from their much-needed rest and tumbling them headfirst onto the damp and draughty floor. 

Now Blackbeard, despite what Hook was wont to claim, was no fool, and it wasn’t long before he divined a pattern to these occurrences. When Hook’s men were at the helm the ship’s course kept steady and when they were up in the rigging all knots and sails held fast. Their hammocks remained firmly fixed to the wall and once he’d appointed Starkey as quartermaster, the missing crates not only affected a mysterious reappearance but remained thereafter consistently—ostentatiously, he felt—present and accounted for. 

Pirates are suspicious beings by nature, and Blackbeard personally credited his success in the field to his complete lack of faith or trust in anyone, with the possible and very tenuous exception of Bones. But suspicions, he reminded himself, are not facts, however compelling they may seem, and so it was not until one afternoon as they slipped into perilous waters in pursuit of a valuable prize that he overheard Starkey murmuring to the mainmast “Steady on, old girl, we need ye t’ take us safely through these shoals,” and comprehension truly began to dawn. 

He recalled how Hook had always stood at the helm of this ship, with that smirking arrogance that set Blackbeard’s teeth on edge. How he’d seemed to move _with_ the vessel, as much a part of her as the hull and masts. How they would appear from nowhere and when least expected, a yellow streak across the horizon, cannons blazing even as they moved and never once falling short of their mark, the whole manoeuvre so quick and so deft it seemed nigh on impossible. _This_ was why Blackbeard had coveted the _Jolly Roger_ , why he would have done anything to have her—for her speed, yes, and her elegant form, but more than that for her impossible daring. For her mischievous nature and her staunch loyalty. Her stalwart love. 

Twaddle, he told himself sharply. Foolish nonsense. A ship felt no loyalty. A ship did not love. 

And yet. 

The storm caught them just off the tip of Glowerhaven, swirling out of the farrago of warm winds off the southern seas and icy ones from the north, and the fierce, opposing currents that grappled beneath the water. Blackbeard had been witness to such storms before, had been wrecked in one as a lad when the _Moordaunt_ foundered and sank in a vicious gale off the coast of Coabana. He would never forget the helplessness of standing on the deck as it was rent to shards beneath his feet, torn by the weight of the water and the strength of the wind. He _could_ never forget the iron grip of fear on his heart as he’d scrabbled to catch hold of anything he could cling to, gripping like a limpet to a broken scrap of plank as he was swept out to sea, buffeted by merciless waves with no thought in his head beyond keeping it above water from one breath to the next. 

Fear’s chill fingers sank deep in his chest again now as the waves began to swell, higher even than the ones that swallowed the _Moordaunt_. But Blackbeard was no longer a green cabin boy and he forced the fear away, buried it deep as he stalked along the deck, barking orders to his crew. Orders they needed to hear just as he needed to give them; only discipline and purpose would keep their own fear at bay. 

They rose to the challenge, his men and Hook’s; together they secured the ballast and stowed the sails, and lashed one another to the masts and railings, anything that might hold them fast to the ship when to go overboard meant certain death. They would make it, Blackbeard thought. The ship was steady and the men undaunted, and they would make it through. The fear loosened its grip and he turned to Bones with a look of triumph—only to find the first mate’s eyes wide and stark with terror. 

“Cap’n!” he cried out, but the wind whipped the word away before it could reach Blackbeard’s ears. He turned to look where Bones was looking, off the port bow where a wall of water appeared to hang suspended in eerie calm, rising slowly, rising… rising… rising impossibly high until it it _broke_ in a froth of white against the dull grey sky. 

The wave arced downward directly towards them with the weight of the ocean’s fury at its back and Blackbeard knew, there in that endless moment he _knew_ that this breath would be his last. The wave would roll the ship—there was no way that it could not—would tear her asunder as the _Moordaunt_ had been torn, and the next day’s dawn would find whatever splinters may remain of her washed up on Glowerhaven’s rocky shores. He felt a flash of outrage— _how dare he die like this_ —then clenched his fists around the wheel and closed his eyes, and offered the tattered remnants of his soul to the gods. 

And then. 

The wheel spun, whipping him round and flinging him into a heap upon the deck. He grabbed for it again, his fingers barely closing over the sodden wood before the ship heaved up and swung around in a pinpoint turn—as she had so often done for Hook—then dipped her bow low as the wave began to break over them. The wave _broke_ , Blackbeard was sure of it, but the _Jolly_ paid no heed; she dipped her bow beneath the water’s surface and surged forward, against the wave and through it, slicing that impenetrable wall as a cutlass slices flesh. 

Blackbeard clung to the wheel as the breath was snatched from his lungs, as the water fought against them, crashed around them, and still the _Jolly_ pressed on, through the wave and out the back of it, bobbing like a child’s bath toy for a moment then sweeping round, faster than any ship could possibly move, and making for the curving point of Glowerhaven’s cape and a large cave that Blackbeard had never known existed, buried deep within the cliffside. There she came to rest with a shudder like a sigh of relief that echoed through the marrow of all their bones.

Blackbeard lay gasping on the quarterdeck with his hand still clutching the wheel, long past the point where he should have risen, should have gone to check the status of his crew. He knew that they were fine, somehow he _knew_ that each and every soul aboard had made it through alive. She would, of course, have made certain of it. 

“You—” his voice was weak and croaky; he cleared his throat and tried again. “You saved us.” He would feel foolish later but there in that moment, in the overwhelming rush of relief and gratitude the idea of speaking to a ship seemed a perfectly sound one. “Thank you.” 

The _Jolly_ huffed and a voice whispered through the corners of Blackbeard’s mind. 

_Don’t mention it_ , it said. _Seriously. Don’t._

The next morning when they ventured from the cave again the skies were clear and the sea calm, and Blackbeard tripped three times within the space of an hour. The merry sound of laughter echoed through his mind each time. 

-

He’d had the _Jolly_ only a few months, barely enough time to truly learn her nature, when Hook returned to claim her. In typical Hook fashion he came swaggering onto the deck with no plan and no backup, none but that gormless first mate and a lovelorn mermaid princess at his side. Blackbeard longed to teach the picaroon a lesson he’d not soon forget, but he _knew_ —from the way the ship reached out, how she called to Hook before his boot had even touched her planks—that any efforts he might make could only come to naught. He gave them a good fight regardless, watched in seething fury as she all but cradled that one-handed bastard in her rigging, protected him with her sails and with that thrice-damned loose board, and only hoped he held enough cards to escape the cursed vessel with his life. 

Fortunately, he had trumps to play on the little mermaid. 

Returning to the _Queen Anne’s Revenge_ with his tail between his legs and whispers of how he’d been saved from an ignominious death by a _woman_ dogging his every move was certainly not Blackbeard’s proudest moment. Determined to assuage his pride and reputation in pillage and plunder, he took his ship out on the seas, where it soon became evident that everywhere they went they were just that little bit too late. Every ship they targeted had already been hit, every village plundered. However fast they moved was never fast enough, and Blackbeard rather suspected that he knew the reason why. 

When word reached his ears that his former crewmen remaining on the _Jolly_ had sworn enthusiastic allegiance to Hook and were now vigorously raiding up and down the coast of Agrabah in a ship so thrilled to be back with her true captain that she performed feats of such fantastic daring and skill that they defied belief, he smashed the chair in his cabin in his fury and had three men flogged for insolence when they came to see what all the ruckus was about. 

The tales were unbelievable but Blackbeard believed them. He knew what that ship was capable of. 

He doubted the _Jolly Roger_ would ever fall into his hands again; now that she and Hook were back together they would not easily be parted. But he dreamed of it nevertheless, dreamed of taking that ship and teaching her manners, dominating her, winning her loyalty to him and him alone, by force if necessary. In his dreams he was her master and Hook lay broken and defeated at his feet, Blackbeard’s sword at his throat, begging for death. 

And yet. Not even a year passed by before he had Hook at his mercy, alone in Blackbeard’s tavern and surrounded by Blackbeard’s men, his famous bravado worn threadbare by a raw desperation that was plain to see in his eyes. The _Jolly Roger_ , Hook offered, in exchange for a magic bean, and Blackbeard, to his own surprise as much as anyone’s and though his sword hand itched to do it, did not kill him. He took the trade instead. 

“What could be so important that you would trade your ship for a bean?” he asked Hook, on the deck of the ship herself so she would be sure to hear. 

“There’s—someone I need to find,” Hook replied. 

“A woman,” sneered Blackbeard. 

Hook nodded. “Aye.” 

Blackbeard was triumphant as he watched Hook disappear into the swirling portal, off into another realm from which, with any luck, he’d not return. The ship must bow to him, now, he thought, she _must_. Hook had left her, abandoned her, traded her for another woman, and Blackbeard knew as well as any the lengths of spite to which a woman scorned will go. 

And yet. Barely had he taken two steps upon her deck than he tripped again, tumbling arse over teakettle down the steps from the quarterdeck with mocking laughter ringing in his ears. 

You don’t become a pirate captain though mercy, Hook had once said, and on this point at least, they could agree. Blackbeard was clean out of patience and thoroughly done with being made to look a fool. He took the ship in hand and he _forced_ her into compliance, worked her to exhaustion with her sheets tight and her sails high, dragged her along rocky coasts and across stormy seas all the way to Arendelle. He could sense her emotions now, her hatred and her fury, the bitter resentment and desire to see him dead—but he also learned to sense the shift in the air that came just before she loosened a board in his path and took malicious pleasure in the impotence of her rage when he stepped clear of the danger each time, with a mocking cackle and a supercilious pat upon whichever part of her was closest. 

“There there, lass,” he taunted. “There’s no cause for that. You’re mine now and I’ve no intention of letting you go. Best to just get used to it.” 

In Arendelle however, he fell foul of another scheming princess, too caught up in goading her to sense the ship’s intent until it was too late and he had tripped again, tumbling this time into his own sea chest and trapped within it by the princess’s quick thinking, then tossed into the sea. It was Bones who saved him that time along with his bosun Stu Jenkins, who leapt in after him and between them managed to haul the chest from the water before Blackbeard could drown and drag it to safety upon a tiny spit of sand and rock. There they three were stranded with naught but coconuts and the shade of a single tree until Anne Bonny—of _all_ the bloody people—happened by and was so delighted by their predicament that she allowed them to negotiate passage on her ship under the tenuous protection of parlay. 

“You’ll be some time in living this down, I fear,” she said, with laughter glinting in her eyes. 

And with that, the iron entered into Blackbeard’s soul. Never again, he swore to himself. Never again would he sully his boot by stepping foot onto the _Jolly Roger._ Never again would he covet anything Hook had. The _Queen Anne’s Revenge_ was a fine ship, tough and sturdy and fast and she was enough. _Never again_. He swore it. 

Years passed before he had a chance to test his resolve on the matter. 

-

The tavern was noisy and crowded, the air a miasma of ale fumes and smoke and men whose approach to personal hygiene was casual at best. In one corner a game of dice was loudly and hotly contested amongst a group of sailors rowdy and jovial in their drunkenness, whilst in another shady dealings were going down between a pair of bar wenches and a man whose discomfort in his surroundings was palpable. Blackbeard could not sympathise. This was his kind of atmosphere and he revelled in it. 

He sat at a table surrounded by his men, cards and dice spread out before him and a buxom wench to sit on his knee and flatter his vanity. He felt like a king holding court, the undisputed master of the seas now that years had passed since either hide or hair was seen of Hook or that wretched scow of his. A toast was raised to his good health and just as he lifted the tankard of ale to his lips—for why should he not drink his own health?—the tavern went abruptly quiet, an unnatural hush that fell like lead and hung in the air more heavily than smoke from a dampered chimney. 

Blackbeard lowered the tankard and turned to the door, and his lip curled into a deeply unpleasant sneer. There, framed in the tavern’s crooked doorway was Hook, dressed in a most peculiar manner, with a short, fitted jacket and trousers made of a material Blackbeard could not identify. At his side was a woman, her long legs encased in similar trousers and wearing as well a similar jacket, only hers was a vibrant shade of red. Her hair flowed down her back in waves of an extraordinary golden hue, framing an exquisite face set in an expression that dared him or anyone present to start something with her. 

So this was she, Blackbeard thought, the woman Hook loved more than his ship. Skinnier than he tended to prefer them though he supposed he could see the appeal. There was a toughness behind that fair face, a core of steel wrapped up in pretty dressing—not unlike Hook himself. She stood like him as well, deceptively casual but poised for a fight. They stood _together_ , not touching but united, a team, and Blackbeard took one look at them and knew that whatever they were after he wanted no part of it. 

“Bugger off,” he spat. 

“Now, now.” Hook attempted conciliation. “No need for incivility, mate. We’re here to make a deal.” 

“I’ve made my last deal with you.” 

“And here the _Jolly_ was finally beginning to warm up to you,” cajoled Hook. “Come on, third time lucky.” 

“I want no part of you or your gods-bedamned hulk,” Blackbeard sneered. “Find someone else to be your patsy.” 

“But you’re the only patsy I know who has a hoard of magic beans,” quipped Hook, ignoring his blonde when she smacked him on the arm. 

“I thought you were going to play nice,” she hissed. 

“It’s too late for that, I fear.” Hook tucked his thumb behind his belt buckle and raised an eyebrow. Blackbeard rolled his eyes. Different clothes, same obnoxious swagger. The man would never change. “Look, mate, if you don’t want the ship then name your price,” said Hook, with a note of sincerity in his tone that caught Blackbeard by surprise. “We need a bean to get back to our daughter, and we simply haven’t the time to climb a beanstalk to find one. Not again.” 

The woman snorted and Hook flashed her a grin, and though they still weren’t touching the connection they shared simmered in the air between them. Blackbeard watched the exchange, intrigued despite his better judgement. “Tell me the tale of this beanstalk,” he said. “That’s my price. If your story’s good enough then you can have your bean, and you won’t even need to fight your way out of this tavern to use it.” 

“Hmm,” murmured Hook, with a glance around the room. “It’s a solid offer. What say you, Swan?” 

The woman fixed Blackbeard with an assessing look. Her eyes were green, he observed, the rich shade of tree moss, intelligent and unflinching. Without breaking eye contact she grabbed a chair and swung it round, straddling it and leaning her arms on its back. Her lip twitched in an almost-smile. “Throw in a round of drinks and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she said. 

Blackbeard stared at her as the tension in the tavern drew unbearably taut, poised on the knife’s edge of his judgement. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. 

“I like this one, Hook,” he said.

“I’m rather fond of her myself.” Hook pulled up his own chair as voices rose around them again, bright and boisterous, and Blackbeard signalled the barman for more tankards of ale. Ale of which, he was impressed to note, the woman finished every last drop. 

“Well, lass,” he said to her, once the tale of the beanstalk had been told. “Any woman who can best this blackguard, leave him chained in the lair of a giant and not look back is one I am pleased to do business with. You’ve earned your bean.” From his pocket he withdrew a small leather pouch and from that a magic bean, holding it up to the light for them to see. 

“Thank you.” The woman accepted it with a smile, tucking it into her own pocket. 

“Thank you for the entertainment,” replied Blackbeard. “And now you’d best be on your way, before this lot reconsiders that offer of safe exit.” 

He imagined they’d have no wish to tarry anyway and indeed they did not. Blackbeard took his tankard over to the window and watched as they proceeded down the alley that led from the tavern and along the dock to where the _Jolly Roger_ was moored, just visible from where he stood. Even from such a distance and with so many years passed since he’d stood on her deck, Blackbeard could still sense the ship’s reaction, her pleasure and relief at their return, and, curiously, a fondness for the woman that very nearly equalled the depth of her love for Hook. 

Hook and his two wenches, thought Blackbeard with a chuckle. May the bastard have the pleasure of them both. 

“Ye sure as that was wise, Cap’n?” inquired Bones from where he hovered at Blackbeard’s elbow, scowling at the scene. “Lettin’ ‘im go like that, I mean? Ye could at least’ve held ‘im a spell, or ransomed ‘er. I ‘ear tell she’s a princess.” 

“I’ve heard that as well,” said Blackbeard, “and frankly I’ve had my fill of princesses, and of Hook. Good riddance to the lot of them.” 

“Aye, Cap’n,” said Bones. 

“Though it may interest you to hear,” continued Blackbeard, “that their journey home might not turn out to be as quick or as smooth as they’re anticipating. It’s possible that they may find that bean doesn’t _quite_ work the way they expect it to.” 

Bones choked on his ale. “Ye gave ‘em the accursed one,” he stated, without a particle of surprise expressed in his flat and affectless tone. 

Blackbeard grinned a wicked grin. “I gave them the accursed one.” 

Together the pirates watched as the _Jolly_ swept away from her mooring, as a swirling abyss appeared in the water, as the ship dipped into it with a flourish and vanished from sight. Blackbeard was feeling rather pleased with himself and with the subtlety of the manoeuvre that would pay Hook back at least in part for all the slights and humiliations Blackbeard had suffered at his hands in the long years of their acquaintance. The thought of the daughter did give him a twinge—even he drew the line at harming children—but their separation was unlikely to be very long. Hook would find his way home again and far sooner than he should, of that Blackbeard had no doubt. The bastard had always had the devil’s own luck, and with his women at his side there would be very little he couldn’t handle. 

Blackbeard tipped his tankard in salute to the now-calm ocean and drank a silent toast, then clapped a hand on Bones’ shoulder and turned back to the tavern to take up his throne again. 

-

_There are good ships and wood ships and ships that sail the sea. But the best ships are friendships, may they always be!_

-Irish proverb

-


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, you’re not seeing this fic pop up again because you’re stuck in a Groundhog Day time loop... at least, I don’t _think_ so. I had a few requests for the story of how Emma and Killian got home after Blackbeard double-crossed them, and as I love writing Emma as confident and skilled with her magic and had always sort of imagined this fic as set in the universe of _Their Way By Moonlight,_ I thought why not? So here you go, a little ficlet-sequel for the beginning of February. Enjoy!

Emma’s heart was pounding so hard she could feel its beat in the pulse at her wrists as she and Killian fled Blackbeard’s tavern, doing their best not to look as though they were fleeing. She couldn’t quite believe they’d pulled it off, that they had both the bean and the _Jolly Roger_ , to say nothing of their lives and freedom. In fact... she _couldn’t_ believe it.

When they reached the _Jolly’s_ deck she leaned heavily against the rail and pressed the heel of her hand to her chest. “You know this was way too easy, right?” she panted. “You know there’s no way he’d just give us a bean in exchange for telling him about us climbing the beanstalk.” 

“Oh, aye,” Killian replied. He went over to where she stood, ran his hand and hook up her arms and down her back, then pulled her close and tucked her head under his chin. Emma was itching with the desire to _move_ , to _do_ something, the urge to get away from there as fast as they could, but still she leaned against his chest, breathing deep and steady as her heartbeat calmed, and allowed her husband his moment of coddling. She knew he needed it, to reassure himself that they were both okay—and honestly, she probably needed it too. 

“So you agree?” she asked when he pressed a kiss to her temple and released her from the embrace. “You think something’s up?” 

He nodded. “Aye, that I do. Even if it weren’t the simplest and most logical conclusion given the circumstances, there’s a particular look Blackbeard gets when he thinks he’s being clever.” Killian’s lip curled and his eyebrow quirked into one of those old Captain Hook expressions she hadn’t seen on his face in some time. “It’s one of his more obvious tells.”

With a wave of her hand, Emma cast a perception spell around the ship. To anyone observing them, it would appear that they were preparing the ship, tossing the bean into the water, then sailing off through the portal it created. In reality, she tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans then turned back to Killian. 

“So what are you thinking?” she asked. “Bean’s a fake?”

He shook his head. “Not fake, no, but I wouldn’t be surprised to discover there was something, shall we say, _amiss_ with it.”

“Amiss how?” 

“I wouldn’t like to speculate. But it does occur to me how amusing Blackbeard would find it to give us a bean that doesn’t take us home at all but instead deposits us in some entirely different realm. Imagine for example if we ended up in wherever Whale is from.”

“Ugh.” Emma shuddered. “Yeah, let’s not do that. But Killian, we haven’t got any other source for a bean. What do we do if this one’s a dud?” 

“Why don’t you have a look at it, love, before we borrow trouble, and see what your magic thinks?”

Emma took the bean from her pocket and held it in her palm. “It looks okay,” she said, peering closely. “Doesn’t it?” 

“Aye. Just like every other magic bean I’ve seen. But how does it feel?” 

Emma closed her eyes and focused on the magic concentrated in the bean’s small form, feeling for its signature and its intent. “The last time I held one of these I wasn’t able to read magic, so I’m not sure what they’re supposed to feel like,” she said after a moment’s concentration. “But there’s definitely a signature on this one that feels… malignant. Like it’s cursed or something.” 

Killian stroked his hand over his jaw in thought. “Cursed to do what, though?” he mused.

“I can’t say for sure but if I had to guess, I’d bet that your theory about depositing us in a different realm might not be too far off.” 

The _Jolly_ shuddered as a wave of fury rolled off her. Killian patted her wheel in an attempt at reassurance, though his own expression was darkly menacing. 

“Quite right too, old girl,” he snarled. “Curse that bloody double-crossing waste of a feathered hat.” 

Emma giggled—she couldn’t help it—despite the reproachful look from Killian and the indignant huff from the ship. 

“What?” she asked innocently. “It’s not like _you’d_ ever wear a feathered hat.” 

“I would not,” he retorted, “and don’t you forget it.” 

“No feathered hat, no perm, no waxed moustache,” she teased. “Sometimes I’m not convinced you’re Captain Hook at all.” 

“That bloody movie has a lot to answer for,” grumbled Killian as she slipped an arm around his waist and nuzzled his neck, locating with unerring accuracy that sensitive spot just below his ear. He shivered and his own arm came around her, drawing her closer, pulling her into a kiss that—

“Wait,” murmured Emma against his lips. “Mirror just got hot.” 

Killian sighed. “Impeccable timing as ever, my lass,” he muttered, then turned to smile at the half of a compact mirror Emma pulled from her pocket and held up so they both could get a look at it. It had seen a lot of use over the years, its edges now chipped and worn, but the image that appeared on its shimmering surface—of a dark-haired girl with her father’s elfin features and her mother’s moss-green eyes—was clear and sharp as ever.

“Did you get it?” the girl demanded. “When will you be home? _Please_ tell me it’ll be soon. Grandma’s threatening to make meatloaf for dinner and you can _not_ abandon me to meatloaf. I would honestly rather starve.” 

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” said Killian, not quite under his breath, as Emma bit her lip to hold back a laugh. 

“We’ve—well, we’ve sort of got it,” she replied. 

“What does _that_ mean?” 

“Well, it means… um…” 

“It means we’ll be home as soon as we can, lass, but you might have to suffer meatloaf in the meantime,” said Killian. 

The girl’s lower lip slid into a pout. “Well take your time then I _guess_ ,” she huffed. “Don’t even _bother_ about me, I’ll be fine here eating meatloaf for _days_. You know Grandma always makes enough to feed an _army_. We’ll probably _never_ finish it. Maybe you don’t even need to come home at all. Just stay away for _ever_ and leave me here to _die_ of meatloaf-related causes” 

Killian pinched the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to stave off the headache their daughter’s dramatics always triggered. “Ro—” he began, but Emma interrupted him with a hard dig of her fist into his ribs. The fist that was still clenched tightly around the magic bean. Carefully, and with her arm angled so only he could see, she uncurled her fingers. 

The bean on her palm was buzzing now with eager energy and the whitish glow within it had grown bright as a sunbeam. _Use_ _me_ , it seemed to say, in a wheedling voice oddly reminiscent of Rumplestiltskin. _You don’t deserve this kind of stress. Let me take you away, far away from it all... use me... use me._

“You know what, that actually sounds like a good idea,” said Emma, nudging the heel of her boot against Killian’s ankle and hoping he’d get the message. “We could use a break. It’d be like a second honeymoon, babe. On that island we went to for the first one, you remember.” 

“Ah yes,” Killian agreed, catching on. The bean’s magic began to snap and flicker. “That sounds lovely. White sand and palm trees and absolutely no whining daughters. Nor meatloaf.” 

“Are you _kidding_ _me_ right now?” demanded the small voice from the mirror, but her parents continued as though she hadn’t spoken. 

“We haven’t had a vacation in years,” said Emma. “This could be our one chance to get away. I say we take it.” 

“Right you are, love.” Killian directed a bright but absent smile at the mirror. “Well, darling, tell your grandmother we said hello and be sure to eat up all your meatloaf. We’ll see you in a week or two, hmm?” 

“Papa, if you don’t come home _right_ _now_ I’m going to—I’m—I’ll—” the girl sputtered in furious indignation. “Mom, you can’t _actually_ mean to just _leave_ me here—” 

“Bye, now, sweetie, don’t forget to do your homework,” sang Emma. “Love you!” She pressed her thumb against the mirror and their daughter’s face vanished. 

The bean was now blindingly incandescent and vibrating so hard it bounced on Emma’s palm like a Mexican jumping bean. 

Emma and Killian exchanged a glance, one that said clearly—and very much _nonverbally_ —“Welp, here goes nothing.” 

“Ready to go, love?” he asked her. 

She nodded. “Sun and sand here we come.” She tossed the bean into the water and they watched as the swirling vortex appeared. The _Jolly_ heaved to and headed for it, awaiting their command to dive in. 

“Well, darling, here’s to the next adventure, whatever it may be,” Killian quipped. They wrapped their arms around each other and thought hard about relaxing tropical vacations as far away from Storybrooke as possible, then the ship plunged into the portal and was gone. 

\---


End file.
